Just Notice

June 12, on the evening news, there was a report of a deer who had somehow gotten into the subway station near Washington, DC. No one could explain how this could have possibly happened—but it did. There it was on surveillance video, as if it had escaped from some underground secret circus, this majestic creature galloping across the electrified rails, leaping up onto the concrete platform, walking about as if to admire the billboards. Then, as if having seen enough, it jumped back down into the depths of the tracks, hooves lightly prancing over the steel rods that could have ended its life. Just like that. Suddenly there, out of nowhere. Poof! Gone, back behind the veil between two worlds.

What made this news story all the more poignant was that there was a lone man standing on the subway platform the entire time the deer made its unlikely cameo. Talking on his cell phone—head down, meters away from this massive, 400-pound miracle of a four-legged. He didn’t even notice! I thought, how sad. He missed it.

What are we missing? Do we even know? Do we ever consistently look up, or are we constantly checking our cell phones?

Life is like that. One minute we feel certain we’re “here.” Then years go by. We check in with ourselves, bewildered, wondering, “Where did the time go? Where did my life go?” One moment we’re feeling real. The next, we’re so numbed out we can’t even remember what we ate for dinner.

The life of the spiritual practitioner is one of return, of diving deep, feeling the descent, noticing and then re-surfacing. Over and over, hundreds of times a day, without judgment or add-ons. This is how we make sense of the world while holding on to ourselves. Your daily meditation practice is like a life vest, signaling it’s okay to get out of the boat.

The great meditation teacher Pema Chodron said, “[I]f we thought we would go blind tonight, we would take a long, last, real look at every blade of grass, every cloud formation, every speck of dust, every rainbow, raindrop—everything—as if we had never seen it before.”

Why do we wait until we think we may go blind to see?

Hui Neng, the seventh century Zen sage said, “The meaning of life is to see.”

What happens when we don’t notice? We miss our life. We miss our destiny. We miss being human. Tragically, an innocent child drowns in a neighbor’s swimming pool. Talking on our cell phone, we trip and fall headfirst into a stone fountain. Without looking, we open the car door. A cyclist goes somersaulting into the air before plummeting to the ground. We come to the end of our life feeling despair in realizing we were absent for most of it. We crash. We burn. We kill time. When did we forget that our time is our life?

Meditatively, whatever we focus on expands. This sense of expansion is how care and concern are grown in our hearts. It’s also how suffering gets magnified. First, we notice. This great adventure called life is made up of countless errands. The richness of life is measured by how interested we become in these errands. It helps if we get curious. I’ve been teaching meditation and mindfulness for more than 30 years, and one of my favorite questions to ask engaged students is, “What did you notice?” The answer to this question is the beginning of reliable intelligence, as it comes to form the basis of having faith in your own direct experience.

It’s 2:23 in the morning. First sound, best sound. Like a rattlesnake in the tall grass. Where did THAT come from? I focus more intently but can’t see a thing. Pitch black. In the thick of the great mystery. 2:54 a.m. Second sound. It’s happening. That sweet melody off in the distance.

The concert begins! My whole being does the call and response. It’s riveting. I don’t know what will happen next, but I am paying attention as if my life depends on it. 3:35 a.m. Thunder. Or gunshot. This is Chicago. I’m not sure. I call 911, just in case. Silence. 3:36 a.m. The concert continues.

I get up early now so as not to miss it. Deep listening to the sound of the birds, a sudden gust of wind. I delight as I sit in the earth’s classroom and learn the faithful practice of return. Pay attention, Darling, stay with me, do not sleep. Breathe, relax, check in with your posture, thinking, release that thought, listen, just notice.

The Isha Upanishad tells us, “This is perfect. That is perfect. When you take the perfect from the perfect, perfect alone remains.”

The experience reminds me of how little I’m in control of and of how precious life is. It reveals the truth about impermanence and the fleeting nature of everything. It lets me know I can miss it if I don’t pay attention.

I register for this class daily. I take my seat on time and on purpose. This transition from darkness to light, from dusk to dawn, sanctifies me. There are no electrical outlets in the sky, no cables or switches. This is the real deal, O Great Morning, a profound time to notice.

Being born and raised in the city, my soul is nourished by this free theatre, available to all. I am ready. There is no shame in being fully present for these holy moments, while the city sleeps.

It’s happening now. Right now. At 4:34 a.m. There it is, that first peak of blue sky once black. Only now can I see the leaves doing their praise dance on “Maple-een,” my beloved tree out front. Hey, girl. I see you. And I’m glad you’re here. God’s broad paintbrush all visible and vast boldly filling in spaces now with pink, blue, purple, and puffs of white—what? Monet in Chicago, all Elon Musk–like, here in a Tesla minute. The sky gets colorful with light from beyond the beyond. Anything is possible. If only we would just notice!

Noticing is a habit that can be cultivated. The following practice can help you notice even more:

Close your eyes or cast them down three feet in front of you. Soften your face. Feel this one breath you’re breathing right now. Luxuriate in this breath. Get to know it. Yawn big. Unhinge your jaw. Relax your tongue. Level your head. Raise your sternum. Align your spine. Strengthen your back. Softly smile. Let your hands go limp. Place them on your lap, not too far forward or too far back. Allow the fingers to curl. Track your breath. Where does it start? Where does it go? JUST NOTICE.

Stay with your breath. Ride its wave. Visualize the wave. Be the boat on the wave. Go inward gently and retreat from all the things that will not retreat from you. JUST NOTICE. Check it out—the flare of the nostril, the touch of the lips, the rise of the chest, the spread of the ribcage, the expanse of the belly, the undulation of the spine, the rhythm. Feel that rhythm. Become that rhythm.

Notice the peace, the deep calm. Feel that peace. Breathe in that peace. Breathe out that peace. Fill up the whole space with peace. Send it to where it’s most needed. Send it to yourself, to your friends, your family, to people whose names you don’t know. Send it to people who get on your nerves. Send it to people hurting everywhere. Just send it. Declare yourself free. This is your one, precious life. Inhabit it. Keep your jaw unhinged. JUST NOTICE. Stay awhile.

Now slowly open your eyes. Raise your gaze. Start looking at things until you see them looking back at you. Only then have you truly noticed. Only then have you truly seen. Start hearing the birdsong, reflecting the light, and feeling the wind. Wake up early and often. Stop merely visiting this world.

Namaste.

……………………..

Elesa Commerse is the Founder and Co-director of Touching Earth Mindfulness Learning Center. She teaches meditation and mindful communication worldwide and offers intensive thematic studies and retreats for students committed to the practice. Learn more at thedeepcalm.com.

1 Comment

Rachel Townsend
on 07/23/2018 at 2:11 pm

I just wanted to say I loved this article! I totally agree that people miss things right in front of them all the time. I am trying not to, but I know I have so much more to go. This was just well written and I enjoyed it very much. Thank you!! <3